Pissed at last
Trip Start
Nov 03, 2009
1
18
33
Trip End
Ongoing
Mysore, Karnataka, India
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
The first mission when we arrived in Chennai was to find a KFC. It took a while explaining to the poor Tuk Tuk driver where we wanted to go, but finally we stumbled upon one and ate ourselves stupid on rubbish, fatty chicken. The next task was to get Deano to a doctor, as for the past two days he had been doing a fantastic Joseph Merrick impression by develpoing a huge South America shaped lump on the side of his forehead. It was actually quite concerning as it was giving him massive headaches, so he went to see a medic with a guy from our hotel. The doctor was a joke apparently, sat with his feet up and all nonchalant, more interested in the cost of laptops in London than removing Deans developing Siamese twin, but eventually told him to pull his pants down and gave him a shot in the arse and a strange cocktail of pills that looked more like penny sweets than medicine. The rest of that day we did very little, I did a few laps of Egmore, the area where we were staying, and then went to bed pissed off as I managed to reset my MP3 player and lost all my music.
The next day we had to wait until our night train that evening, so decided to fill the day wandering around expensive shopping malls looking at things and women we couldnt afford. We managed to cram in our second KFC in two days, getting our fill as it will be a long time probably before we find another. Dean got his camera fixed and we then moped along the wide beach trying to kill some time. While we were waiting for Deans camera we came out of a subway tunnel and happened upon a guy selling old magazines and stationery etc, plus some books with hot indian women on the front. We asked him if they were porn, finally understanding what we meant by our titty grabbing hand signals, to which he answered no, but rooted in his little bag and pulled out a couple of little books. They were downloaded pictures, printed out and stapled together haphazardly to form 6 page wank mag's that we snapped up off him with haste. India is full of hot women, the bollywood birds are stunning and are all over TV, but for some reason are hard to find overly sexual as they seem so straight laced, unlike their slaggy western counterparts. The ones that do seem a bit rude and are dressed up provocativly are no good for a tug as the fuckers dont keep still, prancing and jumping and throwing themselves about the TV screen in shimmering blurs of choreography, so our 6 page filth books were a real treat. Dean thought he had got the best deal as all his women were under 50 and didnt have shaven heads, but was soon gutted when he realised the guy doing all the top bonking looked like me from the waist down with the same hairy arse to boot. He was desperate to swap but I wouldnt have it, revelling in making him feel queezy that he wouldnt be able to stop himself thinking of me while swinging off himself.
The train journey was fine dispite one noisy bastard who kept snoring throughout the ten hour journey, resulting in me getting only about two hours sleep and arriving in Mysore the next morning in a foul mood. I had no patience to wander around looking for a cheap room, so I paid well over the odds for a very average place and went straight to bed (with my new, cherished sex manual). I woke up at lunch time, had a wander around the cool city, but got fed up with people pestering me and trying to sell me weed and tours, so I made my way back to the hotel, bumping into Dean on his way out. We decided to have a quick beer as we had both noticed signs for FOSTERS and were dying to get a decent pint, as the beer we had tried so far in India had been terrible. We follwed the blue sign which led us to a dirty kind of bar come restaurant and ordered two cans of Australias apparent favourite beer, to find it was brewed in Bangalore and tasted exactly like the rest of the piss we had drunk so far. We sacked it off and ordered an 8% beer called 'Knock Out High Punch' which got us pretty tanked up by the time we had finished it. It was actually very good, the first beer we had enjoyed in asia so far this trip, so Dean got another and I was lured in by the tetra packs of rum on offer so ordered one of those.
Half way through the round we were joined by these strange old Indian men, one that wouldnt take his cycle helmet off and another who had a giant twisty moustache, plus his two front teeth missing. The one with the helemt came and sat next to me, showering me with soggy bits of bombay mix that he was reluctant to swallow, prefering to keep it stored under his lip and on my fore arms. His English was better than the moustachiod guy but was still fucking awful, the only words I could make out were Goa, and a few other cities in and around that area. He was a bit touchy feely, and I realised after half an hour of humouring him that he thought I was a rent boy and he wanted me to run away to Goa with him on the back of his scooter. We fucked them off soon after, not before managing to get some piss taking photos with them, but were joined after by another old guy with even worse English. He seemed ok initially, offering us his fruit and stuff, but it turned out he was after money, showing us a plaster on his knee and asking us to pay for his injections. We had already bought the twat a little bottle of rum, so we told him to piss off, which he obliged in doing so but theatrically threw himself to the ground at our feet first in search of sympathy, only to be met with mockery and taunts.
We left that place leathered, proof of this was of Dean replicating what we saw in Chennai by hanging onto a packed bus window as it shot off down the road, gertting a bolloking from the other passengers for his dare devil troubles. We then went to a restaurant where he pretended to be a cripple, me pushing him around in a wheel chair and getting special sympathy from all the staff. I had to walk out at one point when he forgot his role of just having a bad leg and slipped into cerebal palsy sufferer mode and began slavering down his chin and having a minor fit. I couldnt keep up the charade, pissing myself I ran down stairs and sat outside for five minutes to compose myself, returning to find him sat in his chair at a table, fit over and ordering more alcohol. The meal was fine, and as we left I pushed him into a jewelery shop and left him trapped and baffled as to how to escape without making all the people in the hotel/restaurant complex realise he was taking the piss.
We had a great night but didnt half suffer for it the next day. We had to check out at nine and kill the next ten hours until our night train north, but neither of us were in a fit state to wander aimlessly all day so found a scabby hotel and checked in there. We visited the stunning Mysore palace in the afternoon. It was rebuilt in the early 20th century by an english bloke whodid a cracking job. The views from the 2nd belcony over the Palaces groundswere breath taking, it was just a massiveshame they wouldnt let us take pictures.
